


Epithalamium

by Tsuukai



Series: Letters of Submittal [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, M/M, Marriage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuukai/pseuds/Tsuukai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a beautiful day. Taiga looked up at the clear skies, hardly any wisps of white streaking the blank blue. In the trees surrounding the front garden, birds he did not recognise twittered and tweeted in what could have passed as melodious, he would not know; he does recognise the songs of the cicadas, and he thought them apt for the occasion. Around the little pale white chapel were flower bushes, and discretely wondered if there were any hornets conspiring with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epithalamium

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to ‘Dispose of Me’. Can be read as a standalone.
> 
> In my culture, epithalamia (for those who are lost, joyful blessings in poem/song form sung for the bride at the wedding, and usually tells how the bride met the groom and how they wish for their future to be full with babies and smiles and all things nice) are usually for the brides, but I know people who do it for grooms, as well as couples. I heard a terribly phrased one this week, and this is me trying to wash my brain from the memory.

    Taiga hated lying. He saw no purpose in weaving series of events amounting to an epic reason why a person needed to lie; most found him crude when he bluntly informs that he had forgotten the date because it was of no concern to him. Kuroko’s eyes were another story altogether—no lie there, unfortunately—but the smaller man did not speak his mind like he was prone to. However, it still lead them back to the cause of chaos, as Taiga did not own a tuxedo, which apparently was part of the theme to the wedding he had promptly forgotten all about on receiving the save-the-date card three months back.

    There was a flurry of motion around his loft by the three people who had almost died of a heart attack when he asked, “What wedding?”, and his eyes were tightening at the kinetics it was forced to endure after his early morning roadwork. Fresh out of a shower, he did not want to heat up because of the others’ well-meaning help.

    “There’s still time. We can go and rent one from where Midorima-kun got his tuxedo, Kagami-kun,” was Kuroko’s voice cutting coolly through the frenzy. Said towering male on the other side of his living space nudged his glasses further up on his nose bridge, a daunting smirk stretching across his lips.

    “You are lucky, Kagami, that the place is very close by. We should be able to get one in your size fairly quickly.”

    “No, no!” came the shriek of displeasure from the blond male, the one making the most noise just _being_ in the vicinity. He was flamboyantly expressed despite the sleek black tux he had on, with a red and gold bowtie smartly sitting around his neck. Midorima had on a polka dotted one, and Taiga could not imagine how the male could move around the city without being pulled up by Fashion Police. The only way Taiga felt comfortable about the man being there was when he rudely told Kise to shut his trap.

    It annoyed him further, though, when Kise produced on a graceful flourish an assortment of bowties that would “match that furrow you have going on there”. Taiga remembered his recent Anger Management session where the stupid crazy old man made him do repetitive motions to reinforce the new technique to calm him down, and successfully, the tightening of his neck dissipated just thinking about it. “If it would get me out of this mess, let’s leave already. Anyone’s driving?”

    Three pointed stares was all the answer he got. Shuffling to his bedroom, Taiga quickly changed out of his loose drawstring slacks and into a pair of decent jeans and a shirt, then ambled on the way out where his unsolicited (but still, well-meaning, he reminded himself, multiple times) guests were waiting for him. He gathered up his wallet, phone, and keys, following after them. The door clicked shut, automatically locking, further emphasising that there was no turning back. In the elevator, he pressed for the basement, and in surprising silence, rode the eight stories down to his car.

    That brief interlude of silence that surrounded them ended as soon as they hit the road, one passenger giving him directions, one enthusiastically recalling the rehearsal he crashed and was kicked out of, and another bluntly telling the other off. Taiga persevered as he counted numbers slowly in ascending and descending order, and then back again, increasing the count from 10, to 20 and then making a whopping 30 number leap by counting to 50. It was easier to lose himself in driving them around and trying to remember if he was counting right in Japanese. As mundane as the thoughts were, Taiga managed to pass the whole tuxedo-renting incident without too much prejudice, and much sooner, the four men were at the chapel.

    It was a beautiful day. Taiga looked up at the clear skies, hardly any wisps of white streaking the blank blue. In the trees surrounding the front garden, birds he did not recognise twittered and tweeted in what could have passed as melodious, he would not know; he does recognise the songs of the cicadas, and he thought them apt for the occasion. Around the little pale white chapel were flower bushes, and discretely wondered if there were any hornets conspiring with him.

    The occasion was so like the groom, having a wedding in the peak of summer with the sounds of Japan’s wildlife surrounding them in joyous chorus. The energy that they as athletes garnered when the sun was out was insurmountable, but today, he was already drying up, burning from the outside in. A memory hit him, like the wave of heat in his tuxedo, of lying on the cold floor of his apartment, the air conditioning whirring on high and warning that it will die on them soon, of hot hands pushing his body away to monopolise the cool draft: “When I get married, I’ll do it in the summer, and take a whole fucking month for my honeymoon to someplace way cooler than this.”

    “Don’t be an idiot,” Taiga had said, slapping the hands away and receiving a childish pout. “That means mid-July or August you’ll get married. Keep anniversaries separate from birthdays, please.” But he had laughed anyway, the idea forming and brewing and settling deep in his head to be forgotten. Until today, it seemed, as he and others were guided by cute little cousins to their respective sides. Being tall, he had ventured to the back, knowing no matter where he sat he would be able to see everything in high definition. Being tall, Midorima and Kise followed suit, one silently observing, and the other gushing at the little-little things.

    “Don’t be an idiot,” he murmured to himself, Midorima glancing at him before returning back to the ceremony, the bride prettily following the western vows, a demure smile on her lips. “Keep anniversaries separate from birthdays,” he said, remembering that it was two days away from his birthday, and two months before their play season starts. He chuckled when others were clapping and whistling, the couple in front blissfully ignorant to all those around them as they remained in a lip lock longer than necessary. He chuckled again when the bride had to literally push her groom—now husband—away so that they could resume the ceremony. Everything else was a blur.

    When the music started up again, it was a signal for him to stand on his feet and make his way out. The entourage were getting their pictures taken by the professional photographer, and a spokesperson from some media powerhouse stood patiently documenting the event. Taiga paused, long enough to take in the entire scene, before turning to following Midorima’s broad back out.

    Taiga did not stay long. His fingers itched (well, so did the tux) and it felt like an age since he touched his basketball. He smiled, and laughed, and greeted and wished people; he smiled winsomely at the bride, bro-hugged the groom, and then wished the parents. He did not look for anyone on his way back, even with the offhanded thought that the three men who came with him will find a way to the next venue without a hassle.

    Sitting in his car and immediately starting it for the air conditioner, Taiga thought to himself. Of long days with nothing to do as rained poured for hours and making street courts useless; weekend trips to inns after harsh self-training regimes, and sneaking around the staff when they got too loud; food runs and ATM mishaps; playoffs where they forget they are playing a team game and it is just the two of them; cribbing about not having ‘that busty woman’ as a fan; slow, languid kisses, and hot passionate sex. As each and every memory rolled around, he watched people from the ceremony file across the road to their own cars, some waving, and some excitedly chatting away.

    Taiga buckled himself in, arms heavy; he fumbled with the belt for a second before shifting the gear into drive. He looked over his shoulder, turning the wheel, and eased himself out of the parking spot in one fluid motion. As he patiently made his way home, he wondered how fast the clear skies were darkening, his vision blurring. Fingers on the wiper function, he watched as it squeaked its way across the windshield, the noise loud and unpleasant, and it made him screech to a stop in the middle of the road. Before he could register anything, the whole car and his body jerked forward, moving a scant few centimetres, then coming to a rest once again.

    “You fool!” someone screamed at him from outside. “What do you think you’re doing, stopping in the—” Taiga turned to face out of his window at an elderly man, possibly someone from the workforce, ranting at him. Though the minute they caught each other’s eyes, the man halted and grasped his door in surprise. “Are you ok?!”

    “Huh?” he asked unintelligently, as the door opened.

    “Are you hurt anywhere?” the man looked over his shoulder at the forming crowd of people, asking someone to call an ambulance.

    “No, I’m fine.” Taiga mumbled, confused as to what was happening. All he wanted to do was go home, get into some sweats and take to the court. He wanted to stop recalling all those days they spent, all those nights they spent, and all those mornings—it was far from nostalgia at the moment. He just wanted to not _be_. “What is it? I’m fine.”

    The man looked on, concerned, unconvinced. “But you’re…crying…”

    Taiga raised a hand to his cheeks. “Oh.” The man reared his head back, confused. “Oh,” he said again, finally calming. “Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Unneeded) Author’s 2nd Notes: “Epithalamium” (even though it wasn’t a poem/song for the bride) is like Kagami making one for himself, knowing he won’t get one and because he was like the ‘woman’ in the relationship; Aomine is marrying ‘another’ woman and Kagami can’t bring himself to sing praises and blessings to her and her joining with Aomine.
> 
>  
> 
> Reviews and comments are appreciated, no matter the content! :)


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